Crash Test Girl Read online

  My sister and I talked about what it’d be like to have a normal life, and we were envious of our friends in nice houses where they had lived their whole lives. We couldn’t imagine a life where you didn’t have to sit on the washing machine to stop the house from shaking bits of ceiling down. She fantasized about joining the swim and racquet club her friends invited her to for the day. I reacted to the moves by rejecting the very idea of “home,” saying I would be a drifter artist who didn’t stay in one place for long. I’d go wherever the muse moved me, and never feel tied down to a person or a place.

  Despite the chaos, I graduated high school with good grades and I went to West Valley Junior College and then on to San Francisco State University on loans and scholarships. While I was in college, my dad’s business picked up enough to tear down the rat house and build a nice one in its place that I never lived in—but Summer did, and she got to experience stability, which made me happy.

  I knew my parents were doing the best they could. I never once felt like we were poor or homeless. I was a white girl in a middle-class neighborhood. I was never hungry or without a warm place to sleep. Moving into my car was an experiment I chose to do, a crash test on my survival skills. I had a safety net of extended family and close friends, but it seemed important at the time to see if I could make it on my own. Rough times show you what you’re made of, and, if you cope, you get to take that invaluable knowledge with you as you move forward.

  I found that not only could I get a job, I liked having one. I became addicted to employment and making my own money. I also learned that I didn’t need much and could tolerate a high degree of personal discomfort. My homeless-by-choice month was my rebellion against my father’s assertion that “it is just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man.” He made it sound like I needed a successful husband to secure my happiness and future. I reacted to his ethos by wanting to be the hero of my own story. I said, “I don’t care about money!” and proved it by living with hardly any.

  And yet, to this day, my deepest fear is eating cat food in a box under a bridge.

  Money for me means security and stability, two things that I didn’t often have as a kid. Nowadays, I don’t need or want a fancy car or the trappings of success. I just need a permanent home for my family. I’m obsessive about not carrying debt. I’m very much my mother’s daughter in being an avid budgeter and keeping a close eye on the bottom line no matter how much money I make or have saved.

  MONEY = SECURITY AND STABILITY

  Once you take care of your basic needs—food, shelter, safety—you will be okay. I will never equate wealth with happiness, because I’ve seen and experienced the world from both sides. I’ve met fantastically rich people, TV execs and entrepreneurs, and tragically poor people in the slums of India and the favelas of Brazil. The people in pursuit of status and the dollar are the most depressed and unsatisfied of all because they always want more. But people who have good relationships, no matter their incomes or the size of their houses, are happier and healthier.

  That is the American dream after all. Do what you love and you’ll ultimately be financially rewarded. When I did an ad hoc poll of my many lifelong artist and musician friends, their answers were to burst out laughing. Granted, some of them have become successful and they lead comfortable lives. Some of my friends decided that they were passionate about making a lot of money, and they went into real estate or finance, and have followed their bliss all the way to the bank. The truth is, no matter what your dream might be, you have to work your ass off to be successful in any field, including those with more earning potential than “starving artist,” which was always number one on my career wish list.

  GET A STRATEGY

  The Starving Artist Financial Plan

  After college graduation and my wander year, I survived on odd jobs and bar food. My mom had given me a map of every free food happy hour bar and free samples supermarket and liquor store in San Francisco. It was like the key to the city. I have always loved eating hors d’oeuvres for dinner, and was fine sustaining myself on nachos and food with toothpicks in it. My favorite place was an Irish bar that had a full Indian buffet every happy hour (aka San Francisco fusion). Mom created this list way before the internet from word of mouth and newspapers. She truly was a freebies queen.

  When I met Paul, we were both struggling to pay rent, but even then, our divergent spending styles were emerging. I was a saver, and Paul was a spender. (Paging Dr. Freud.) Financial woe was, absolutely, the number one source of tension between my parents, and in the spirit of not making the same mistakes they did, I sensed Paul and I had to get on the same page about money ASAP.

  If I’m weak in an area, I seek out someone who’s strong. Back then, I wasn’t well versed in finances, so I sought out an expert to guide us. We didn’t have much money to spare, but I hired a financial advisor anyway, and chalked it up as an investment in our future harmony and happiness. The advisor walked us through the basics, like making a budget, paying down credit cards, and what compound interest was. If we could save a little bit each month now, it’d grow exponentially as we got older. I was fascinated by it all and realized I had an aptitude for it. What Paul got out of the session was the confirmation that money does not interest him much. So we agreed that I would be in charge of our finances. Paul trusts me completely and backs me on my decisions.

  So when I decided it was time to buy a house, Paul was only too happy to not have to worry about all the details and just let me do my thing. I give him credit for his staying calm. I knew he was apprehensive about my taking on such a huge responsibility, but he followed me into the unknown with trust. I probably would have insisted on that anyway, since I’m a control freak about saving, investing, and having a safety net. I’m convinced that Social Security will be gone by the time we hit sixty-five. I’ve seen people ruined by outliving their retirement savings and am fearful about cost of living increases and how much it takes to save for Stella’s college tuition and our old age. I’m on it, though. I’m planning for our future. If I handed the job over to Paul, I’d worry. Not that he isn’t capable—like I’ve said, I’m a control freak. Money doesn’t have to be the root of marital strife if you agree on a strategy that works for you.

  I’m the CFO of our family. Our arrangement is not conventional. People still make assumptions about who pays the bills. Whenever we negotiate with contractors, for example, they always go to Paul for expenses approval, and he sends them to me. (I love getting mansplained about construction. “No, sir, please explain what drywall is to me.” I am just a silly girl with a forklift certification and an entire garage of power tools.) When we go out to dinner, waiters place the bill in front of Paul, and he very pointedly pushes it toward me. My husband is a “fight the power” person and jumps on any opportunity to raise awareness about inequality. That’s my feminist strong man.

  * * *

  SMART SPENDING

  I was once speaking at a conference that was aimed at inspiring girls about the future. As I was waiting side stage I caught Nely Galán’s speech about financial literacy. She emigrated from Cuba with nothing and went on to become the first Latina president of Telemundo. In her book, Self Made: Becoming Empowered, Self-Reliant, and Rich in Every Way, she dished out tons of excellent advice for women in business—such as “Don’t wait for a prince charming” and “Power is taken, not given”—but her tip that resonated with me is “Buy buildings, not shoes.

  I respect that immensely. We have to be smart about spending, which means saving and investing wisely. Buying frivolous things will not get you anywhere except, to quote a Johnny Cash song, “Another day older and deeper in debt.”

  We live in a strange culture, where looking glamorous “means” you’re successful. When I see a super-glamorous young woman who cares more about her hair than her, um, like, diction, I see a sucker.

  No one cares how fancy your purse is besides you.

  Money is power. By spending it on things that do
n’t last or increase in value, you fritter away your power. Before I spend a single dollar, I ask, “Will this pay off?” Every purchase is an investment, so I invest my money on:

  Good tools. If you get a crappy, cheap band saw or drill, you’ll have to replace it soon, doubling the cost. If you buy quality first, you’ll save in the long run.

  Good boots. Look, I like a nice shoe, and I have splurged on some designer heels that won’t be in fashion forever. But I live in boots with good arch support and steel toes. A well-cared-for pair of Frye boots will last a lifetime.

  Good accessories. In my twenties when I could ill afford it, I spent one hundred dollars on a leather belt. I have been wearing it for twenty years, which retroactively makes it an absolute steal.

  Travel. Travel is the only expense that makes you richer by experiencing new things, seeing the world, gaining a perspective on your own life by seeing how others live, learning to talk to people from different cultures, and sharing ideas. You will be wealthy with insight, knowledge, and point of view. One day of walking the streets of India, and I promise you will come home and not want to waste a minute of your time on bullshit.

  Food. When I stopped surviving on free bar food and made enough to go to restaurants, I was shocked to see how much we spend eating out in a year. So I learned how to cook, and learned how important quality ingredients are. Every purchase is an investment, and there is no bigger investment than your health. Call me Californian, but I know I’m stronger when I eat local, seasonal, and fresh.

  Time. When you feel low, invest time in something that will make you feel better. Chances are, it’ll be inexpensive, like cooking a meal, singing, or dancing with someone else, going to a movie, taking a bike ride. Put positive energy into the universe, and it will come back to you, with compound interest.

  * * *

  Mythbusted: If You’re on a Hit TV Show, You Must Be Rich!

  When I was offered the role as on-air cohost, Paul said, “Holy shit! We’re gonna be rich!” I thought we would be, too. How wrong I was.

  When I started as the cohost of MythBusters, I was paid four hundred dollars a week for working thirteen-hour days, five or six days a week. After the show took off, my salary stayed the same. I was still taking out the trash every day at M5, and glad to do it. I loved the work and couldn’t believe I’d lucked into it. I’d signed on for an unpaid internship, so any cash was a bonus.

  For the first four years of being on a hit TV show, even though I was slowly making a little more each season, I was still living below the poverty line. I started to think someone is getting rich on the show. The reality of reality TV is that hosts are expected to supplement their income with endorsement deals. In the meantime, it took me three paychecks to pay my rent on a one-room studio apartment in a bad neighborhood.

  The fabled endorsements and sponsorships did come through eventually, and, much to my amazement, I made the equivalent of a year’s salary in two weeks by doing a promotion for a big company. Suddenly, I was making six figures and working even harder, motivated to strike while the iron was hot.

  The best part about making more money than I’d ever thought possible was not feeling the constant, nagging stress about being able to take care of myself and my family. I was also relieved to be in the position to help my friends in need, and I had a lot of them.

  I was not so thrilled that every distant relative I’d met once came out of the woodwork and asked me for money. People I wasn’t related to and didn’t know wrote to me and said, “We met when you were a little kid. I’ve hit hard times. Can you send me five thousand dollars?” Complete strangers emailed me, too. A typical message was something like this: “Hello, Kari. I’m a maker like you and I need money to build my robot. Can you help?” People I went to high school with friended me on Facebook solely to ask me to invest in their ventures or donate to their school auction.

  I established a policy early on not to reply to strangers. But I felt obliged to write back to family and tried to explain that I wasn’t in the position to send large checks at will. I was very careful about the wording so I didn’t offend or alienate them. Sometimes, they wrote back, “This is family. You have to send money.” I was put in a sticky and uncomfortable situation. It would have been sanctimonious of me to say, “Hey, when I was broke, I worked three jobs or sold stuff. I got my hustle on.” I didn’t do that, but the idea of giving people advice that might actually be of value became a calling of mine. I couldn’t give money to everyone, but I had something of value to share: my time. I would offer to, essentially, “teach a man to fish,” and occasionally, people took me up on that.

  BECOMING FINANCIALLY SECURE IS A JOURNEY OF SELF-EMPOWERMENT; TO FEEL THE FORCE OF IT, YOU HAVE TO LEARN TO MAKE IT, SAVE IT, AND SPEND IT WISELY ON YOURSELF AND OTHERS

  The Standoff

  Until I worked in TV, I didn’t hypothesize that my salary was a measurement of my worth. But that changed when I learned that Grant and Tory were paid more than I was for the same job. I don’t remember exactly how it came out, just in casual conversation. I do remember feeling shocked and a bit betrayed by the production team for shortchanging me.

  I brought it up in my next contract negotiation. The woman I was dealing with said, “They’re paid more because they have higher degrees than you.”

  “Actually, they don’t,” I replied. Tory and I had the same degree from the same college. Grant had a bachelor of science degree; he was an engineer, yet he didn’t have a master’s in it.

  She had a few other arguments, but I pointed out we all had the exact same job title and in fact I had seniority. So why was I paid far less? I was so frustrated by this conversation, and how she tried to shoot down my logic, that I almost cried on the phone. I held it together because I didn’t want to throw gas on the fire or show any weakness. The worst part about the entire conversation was that she was a woman. Why wasn’t she championing me or at least offended by the absurdity of the pay gap?

  After many conversations about the situation with several executives, the production team finally raised my salary to their level . . . and then they gave the guys a raise over that! Of course, the guys told me right away and were just as appalled by the inequality as I was. Tory and Grant are glorious feminists and were totally on my side during the entire dispute.

  Enraged, I hired an agent and went to war. Grant, Tory, and I joined forces and negotiated a “league of all nations” contract that ensured we were all paid the same amount.

  This story isn’t atypical of other women in TV, or anywhere. Gillian Anderson had to wage war on Fox TV to get the same salary as David Duchovny on the original The X-Files. And then, when they revived the show ten years later, the execs pulled the same crap again! She threatened to walk, and I applaud her for standing her ground. She got parity. Equal pay for equal work is far from a reality, despite feminists fighting for it for a hundred years. And it’s never going to be, unless we persist.

  Inequality at MythBusters, and other jobs since, has turned me into a wage warrior. If I am doing exactly the same job as a male cohost, working the same hours, why should his salary exceed mine? I’m not asking for more. I’m asking for fair.

  I felt like it was my duty to start a new standard. My agent adds a clause to all my contracts that says if my cohost has the same job, same title, same billing, he cannot make more money. I’ve come close to walking away from the table over this clause. Goes without saying, men don’t have to risk jobs for equality. I do it, in part, to give back. Women that come after me might have a slightly easier battle if I have already taken a little of the fight out of the decision makers and disrupted precedent.

  It all began when Grant, Tory, and I compared salaries. If they never told me what they made, I wouldn’t have gone to war, hired an agent, and joined forces over it. In talking with other women in my field during this time, I learned that not only were they making less than the male colleagues, in many cases, they were often more qualified and experienced a
nd performed at a higher level. From production assistants to producers, the story was all too familiar.

  Outraged, I started working with other women, giving advice and counsel about their salaries. I’m giving a hand to women on the way up, and helping those trying to break in, whether it’s offering negotiating tips or making introductions. I carved out some pathways, but it’s not necessarily easier to be a woman in science entertainment. We have to support and inform each other.

  The first step is to talk openly about money.

  The bosses perpetuate the idea that salaries should be kept secret because they have ulterior motives. If you don’t know what your colleagues make, you don’t know to ask for the same. We’ve all been indoctrinated to think it’s rude to talk about what you earn, but isn’t it far more offensive when women are routinely paid a fraction of their male counterparts’ salaries?

  From the get-go, men are offered higher salaries, and then they push for more. A pushy man is a smart negotiator.

  A pushy woman is a pain in the ass.

  * * *

  NEGOTIATING WHILE FEMALE

  Some tips about how to get what you deserve while interviewing:

  Act like you’re hiring them. You get to judge, too. Is this the right place for you? Do you really want it? Sussing out whether you like them takes the pressure off trying to make them like you. A good job is about the right fit. Ask questions about the office culture and how they do things to gather necessary intel and to show interest and respect. Bosses and HR people can smell a suck-up a mile away. It’s far better to come off as curious and confident by asking what you can do for each other.